The Latecomer
by HalfASlug
Summary: It's the day every Weasley has been dreading since the battle and now it's George's turn to speak. However, before he can begin, he is rudely interrupted by a latecomer. Joint winner of Best Post-Hogwarts One-Shot at the 2012 Quicksilver Quill Awards on MNFF.


_Warnings: Mild language_

_Disclaimer: J.K Rowling owns Harry Potter but I successfully managed to steal Terry Boot from her. It's not quite the same._

* * *

"Now we will hear George Weasley talk of the memories he shared with Fred."

He wasn't listening.

It was hardly the first time an adult was talking seriously about a serious subject that George seriously couldn't give a rat's arse about but it was different this time. This time he was alone in his ignorance.

It was as George pondered why anyone had allowed this idiot to spew out his meaningless clichés and vague adjectives, that he missed his cue.

"Mr Weasley?"

George ripped his attention away from his own thoughts to the tufty-looking wizard in front of him. Slowly, he rose from his uncomfortable plastic chair and made his way to the podium. When he reached it, he gripped the sides and looked out at the large crowd gathered before him. It suddenly struck him how weird it was to have pretty much everyone he knew gathered in the same place. What he also found weird was that they all seemed to have frozen.

At first he thought he had gone mad but as he continued looking from still face to still face it became obvious that he was the only one still moving. Unsure of what to do, George shifted awkwardly, the eerie silence swelling around him. Part of him was grateful for this strange occurrence for he had had no idea what he was going to say.

"Well, this is a sight for un-dead eyes."

Startled, George looked around for the sound of the interruption and found it quickly.

Right in front of him, at the other end of the aisle, stood Fred, dressed in his bright green dragon-skin jacket, observing his surroundings with a look of distaste. Before George could react, Fred looked straight at him and gave him a massive grin.

"Sorry I'm late," he said as he started slowly making his way towards George.

"That is sort of the whole point of this little party," George replied through numb lips. Fred stopped inspecting the people in the back row and flashed him another smile.

George couldn't help it; for what felt like the first time in years, he smiled back.

"So how have things been?" Fred asked casually as he looked at the immobile people around him.

George shrugged. "Boring," he answered honestly.

Fred popped his collar and started strutting. "Of course they were. I was always the funniest."

Still in too much shock, George failed to think of a witty remark to contradict him. Fred seemed to notice and started commenting on the guests to cover the awkward silence.

"Good turn out," he remarked. "Is that McGonagall?"

George followed his eye line and saw Fred was indeed looking at his former teacher, who was currently doing a remarkable job of holding it together.

"Yeah, I was surprised she showed up," George laughed. "She never really gave off the impression that she particularly liked us."

"Whereas I was her biggest fan," Fred added with a roguish wink. "What I wouldn't give to be fifty years older..."

At this, George snorted as he tried not to think about Fred growing older. "Even if you were, she would never have looked at your ugly mug twice."

"Au contraire, my brother," Fred said, wagging his finger in George's direction, "all those detentions, all of that sexual tension…" He closed his eyes and placed his hand over his heart, a pained expression on his face.

"I was at those detentions," retorted George, "and there was more sexual tension that time we broke into Filch's office while he was giving Mrs Norris a bath."

Chuckling at the memory, Fred carried on his journey until he saw a crooked witch's hat visible from the middle of a row in front of him.

"Muriel?" exclaimed Fred in disgust. "You invited Muriel?"

George winced as he always did when he looked upon his Great-Aunt. There was just something about the woman that he could've sworn he was allergic to.

"Mum played the 'she's family' card," he mumbled, slightly ashamed that he hadn't stood up to his mother like he usually did. Nobody had in days.

"But still…" Fred continued, poking her in the eye with his finger just because he could, "the old hag could at least try and look upset."

"She's started referring to me as 'The Living One'," George told him with a small laugh.

Fred looked up from what he was doing, his eyebrows raised. "I've started referring to her as 'The Billywig-Shit Crazy One'."

With another chuckle and one final prod at his horrid aunt, Fred continued down the aisle until he was by the second row. His bright brown eyes flashed with recognition and he started sprinting between the rows to the far end to sling his arm around his latest target.

"Now here is a man who can dress for any occasion!" he exclaimed jovially, while Lee Jordan sat next to him unaware of what was going on. Despite everyone but George's protests and misgivings, Lee had shown up in bright orange robes and had even dyed his dreadlocks bright ginger in honour of the occasion.

"I think he looks dapper," commented George seriously.

"Incredibly handsome," added Fred as he straightened the front of Lee's robes out.

"Very striking."

"Bloomin' gorgeous."

Their eyes met and they both descended into peals of laughter. Lee looked utterly ridiculous and George loved him for it.

"At least Lee isn't taking this too seriously… unlike the rest of these sad saps," Fred laughed, before he turned around to see the girl who was sat beside Lee. He stared at her for a moment, blinking, as though he was hallucinating. George knew the feeling. "Is that Angelina?"

"Um, yeah," replied George uncomfortably. Until last night, Fred's on-but-mainly-off girlfriend hadn't been planning to attend the funeral, feeling she couldn't cope. Lee had told George of her intentions and he had gone round to her flat to try and convince her otherwise.

Four hours and three bottles of Firewhiskey later, Angelina agreed to come.

Five hours and four bottles of Firewhiskey later she and George had kissed.

Looking at Fred now, his face straight and his eyes regretful, George knew he couldn't tell him. It was the first time he had ever wanted to keep a secret from Fred and the thought made him sick.

"I didn't expect her to turn up," Fred said, bringing George back to the moment.

"Neither did she," said George honestly.

"I messed that up, didn't I?" Fred sighed. "'Work better as friends' – what was I thinking?" he said almost to himself.

"Well you did," George pointed out. Fred tore his eyes away from his ex and looked to his twin. They both remembered the yelling and crying – and that had just been Fred. For some reason the close friends could never turn their friendship into anything more, no matter how hard or how many times they had tried. Something was always missing.

"True," admitted Fred. He gazed back at Angelina with a look that even George couldn't define. "Look after her, George."

Fred had spoken so quietly that George had doubted it was him. He had never heard his brother sound so honest. Before today he would have done anything Fred had requested of him but that kiss had sent his mind into a tail-spin. The seconds ticked on with Fred looking at Angelina and George at Fred. Really, there was only one answer to give.

"Of course."

George wasn't sure how long it was before Fred took a deep breath and moved away from Angelina but when he did, he came around the chairs to far end of the front row and his still gloomy face broke into his familiar teasing grin.

"Oh now, here's the man of the hour! Is that _the_ Mr Harry Knee-High-To-A-Gnome Potter?" he asked astounded.

"The very same," George said with a short nod. "He had to cancel several other luncheons to be here. You should be honoured."

Fred gasped like a star-struck fan and curtseyed to show his appreciation.

When George had stopped laughing, Fred asked "I'm guessing by the pulse he killed Ol' Voldy?"

"With much style and showmanship," George replied proudly. "You would've loved it."

"And should I be reading too much into the fact our sweet little sister is sat next to him?" Fred added with a frown.

George chuckled as he remembered how his baby sister had been with the saviour of the wizarding world for the past week. "She has almost forgiven him for running off. She's keeping him in his place."

"Good," said Fred fondly. "You have reminded him that that some old bloke with bad skin and unhealthy relationship with his pet snake is nothing compared to the wrath of five older brothers?"

"Charlie reminded him he knows a Horntail with a score to settle just yesterday," replied George promptly.

Fred nodded and took a few steps to the pair who were sat next to Ginny and his eyes nearly popped out of his head.

"OHO! Is that Ronniekins holding the lovely Miss Granger's hand?" he exclaimed, pointing at the conjoined hands. "So he finally did it then?" he asked gleefully, whipping his head around to face George.

"Actually," answered George hesitantly, "word is that _she_ kissed _him_."

"The shame!" cried Fred, looking mortally wounded. "If only she hadn't treated her friendship circle like a homework club then I would have definitely shown her how a real Weasley woos a woman."

"Another girl who would never look twice at you…" George muttered under his breath.

"I'm telling you!" Fred protested. "That time she caught me testing our Balding Bubble Gum on Crookshanks the vein in her forehead was giving me the come on in Morse code!"

They both laughed loudly at the memory.

"Crookshanks is a whole other story," George managed to get out inbetween laughs. "I remember the time you were mumbling that cat's name in your sleep."

Fred stopped laughing and glared at George, before moving on.

"Oh, Percy," he commented sadly. "You have always been an ugly crier."

George looked at his older brothers screwed up face and found that he couldn't disagree.

"Poor Charlie, that is definitely a Mum Special there," Fred chuckled, rubbing his hand over his brother's scalp. "How long did it take her to convince him to let her cut it this time?" Fred asked over his shoulder, still pulling the short hairs that remained on Charlie's head.

"Actually, he consented straight away."

He didn't know if it was the words, what they implied, or the sombre way they were said, but George saw Fred stiffen at them. With a slight cough, Fred looked to his left and saw Fleur Weasley sobbing into her husband's shoulder, who also had thick tears falling down his scarred cheeks.

"Fleur Delacour is crying over me? Somewhere in the past, a sixteen year old Fred is doing the most elaborate victory dance. By the way - how is it that Bill manages to look so great while crying with a half-eaten face?"

George didn't make comment on Fred's observations. He just stared at his twin, mocking his family, wondering how long this beautiful moment would last. He didn't care if it was real or if he had somehow died as well and this was his introduction to the afterlife; all that mattered was that Fred was there and talking and joking and the world felt normal for the first since his Bill had stopped him walking into the Great Hall and taken him to the side.

"I'm surprised Dad didn't try and have this all Muggle," Fred continued, apparently unaware that George was no longer listening. "Can you imagine-"

The moment Fred's eyes fell on his mother, his entire body froze. Her usually bright eyes were red-rimmed and gaunt. For the first time in days she wasn't crying but instead was staring towards the front, looking hopeless and lost. If it weren't for his dad's arm around her, George doubted she would've been upright.

Fred stared at the broken woman in front of him and the smile fell off his face.

"I'm sorry, Mum," he whispered.

After what could have been years, Fred closed his eyes and turned away. Eventually he opened them and straight away spotting the wizard who had called George to the front.

"Is that the bloke Dumbledore's funeral and Bill's wedding?" he asked in disbelief as he made his way to stand next to George. "Do they keep him in a box somewhere and bring him out at special occasions?"

As George laughed, Fred finally reached him. He flung his arms out, his face almost split in half, his smile was that wide.

"Ear you are!" he cried happily.

"I do lobe being the centre of attention," George winked back.

They smiled at each other before simultaneously turning their heads ninety degrees to look out at the sea of faces before them. Most were crying, some looked tense, as though they were fighting tears but all of them were still and looking in the twin's direction.

"That's _weird_," breathed Fred.

"Not as weird as that," George said quietly, pointing to what lay in front of the podium he stood in front of.

Fred's gaze followed the gesture and saw that George was pointing at a large wooden box.

A coffin

His coffin.

Neither of them wanted to think about what lay inside.

"Give you that one, Georgie," Fred admitted through what looked like numb lips. He swallowed audibly before turning back to George.

They stared at each other for a split second before George felt all the pain and grief hit him at once and tears started forcing their way out of his eyes. He ducked his head so Fred wouldn't see, knowing it was pointless as he was shaking with sobs. He felt a hand grip his shoulder and tried to control himself. Eventually when he looked up, Fred was looking at him with a look more serious than anything George had ever seen adorn his face.

"Please tell me you're not letting this go off without a hitch," pleaded Fred through gritted teeth.

"Decoy detonators under Muriel's and few other random chairs, Whizz-Bangs at either end of the aisle, I'm pretty sure none of the food at the wake is real and this podium is set to become a giraffe in about three minutes," George replied thickly.

Slowly, Fred's trademark mischievous grin crawled up his cheeks. He shook George's shoulder and gave him a look of pure pride.

"Mischief Managed," he said with a roguish wink.

"Mr Weasley?"

George span around to see the tufty-looking wizard looking at him sympathetically. Breathing heavily, George turned to the front to see the crowd in various states of mourning, still staring at him but now fidgeting in their seats. He could hear the occasional blow of a nose or sniff and knew that whatever had just happened was over.

Jerkily, George turned to his right and saw nothing but empty space.

With a hard swallow, trying not to think about anything, not the crowd, not the wizard to his left or the emotions ripping through him, George looked away from the place he had just seen his twin and down to the place his twin was now, and always would be.

"Goodbye, Fred."

* * *

Thanks for reading :)


End file.
